


Nobody 'til Somebody...

by datalaur



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: ASCEM, Angst, Holodeck Character, Holodeck Sex, Loneliness, M/M, Rare Pairings, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-04
Updated: 2007-05-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22082524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/datalaur/pseuds/datalaur
Summary: Vic plays solitaire.  Written for the 2007 ASCEML fic exchange.You're nobody til somebody loves youYou're nobody til somebody caresYou may be king, you may possess the world and it's goldBut gold won't bring you happiness when you're growing oldThe world still is the same, you never change itAs sure as the stars shine aboveYou're nobody til somebody loves youSo find yourself somebody to love-You're Nobody til Somebody Loves You, sung by Vic Fontaine in DS9 epHis Way
Relationships: Nog / Vic Fontaine
Kudos: 6





	Nobody 'til Somebody...

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek. That which is not Paramount's is mine.

The thing is, he treated me like I was real.

I'm not, of course. I'm just a light bulb. Just a hologram. But being online all the time, all of a sudden like that, and all that attention... it was intoxicating. It made me a little nuts, and more than a little stupid.

See, I thought Nog would come back. Not that I expect a lot of his time. I don't. I get it, honest. After all, I deliberately forced him out of the holodeck for a reason: the kid needs to live his real life. 

It's just... well, I guess I thought I'd see him more often, especially since he'd made those arrangements for my program to run all the time. Sure, he comes in with the others now and then; he even cracked a safe for me when that loser Frankie Eyes muscled in on my lounge. But with the war and all, Nog's been too busy to have much free time. Now that it's over and practically half the gang transferred offstation, it seems like all of them would rather spend their spare moments in holoprograms that don't keep reminding them of the friends that split. 

Even Julian doesn't stop by as often; he's busy putting it to that spotted chick. I don't blame him, because if I was in his shoes, I'd screw Ezri morning, noon and night, if only to put her big mouth to better use. But all of it boils down to the fact that the lounge crowd has fewer and fewer real faces these days, and hardly any of them are the faces I look for. The new ones come for the show, once or maybe twice, and I'm little more than ambiance for someone's date.

Not one of them knows me. I don't suppose any of them think there's anything worth knowing.

Nog did. He got to know me better than anyone else, except maybe Felix. Those weeks while he and I were planning out the new casino, after we finished up work and played a few hands, we talked late into the night. Mostly about little things, or even nothing some nights. 

Other nights, especially when I'd got a few drinks into him, the kid would loosen up a little and talk about the deep things. About killing, and seeing your friends wounded or killed. Hushed and halting, he spoke of the reek of burned flesh and scorched hair, the thick stink of blood and dust and voiding corpses. About the disorienting clamor of battle and the odd momentary lulls, about the screams or whimpers of those in pain and the soft lies told to those that lay dying, and how sometimes he had envied humans for their weak hearing. 

One time Nog even told me about what happened with Jake and his girl, how she had called him a hero, and exactly why that rankled so badly. Worst of all, the silly skirt topped it off by gawking at Nog's legs, like he's some kind of freak. 

And then one night he finally admitted how lonely he was, as if loneliness didn't radiate off him in practically visible waves. I just hadn't realized there was only a handful of Ferengi out there on the station, and not one of them an approachable female. Had he been on his home planet, Nog said, his father would have contracted a wife for him by now, but their life on the remote station and their limited finances made that option impossible. 

As for the available girls of other races, Nog had clearly grown a little bitter. Though he finds many of them quite attractive, few will eyeball him. Nog said that when he does manage to meet a chick, despite all the cultural compromises he makes, none will meet him half-way. While the no-clothes thing works for me, I can't say I really blame the girls for burning rubber, because that whole attitude of chicks being property is bad news.

He keeps hoping, though. After all, pops landed that stacked Bajoran babe, and I guess Nog figures he could luck out too. But so far, zip. 

As for balling, well, based on the way he described his dates, he didn't get to do more than cop the occasional feel. I'd have bet all my chips that he'd never been laid, and I'd have won them too, but even so he wasn't completely out of it. His friend Jake... sure, Nog never said it outright, but I can read between the lines. They'd done their share of adolescent fooling around before Nog went off to the academy, a couple years ago. 

So why shouldn't I have made a move? That's a hell of a long time for anyone to keep his hands to himself. It was just two pals helping each other out, the way I figure. 

Nog certainly was quick enough to clue in, and once he tugged me down on the sofa and we got the whole height difference thing sorted out, we had a helluva good time. Sure, after we got our breath back, it was sort of awkward, like it always is. You don't want the other guy thinking the wrong thing, you know?

I remember Nog laughed a little nervously when I tossed him my shirt to wipe off. He said something about it being okay since I was the boss. It's one of the Ferengi rules, apparently.

Crazy, I replied, and told him it's a show biz thing too. Not that everyone does, but buddy, when you're not first string, you do whatever you have to do to get the gig. And then to keep it, because your alternative is going back to the sticks and living the slow death of a shoe salesman. 

Everything settled, we each got another scotch and talked until we were ready to go again. Blowing him damn near blew his mind; obviously Jake had never been that good a friend. He didn't return the favor, but I can't say I was too sorry about it, because the thought of getting snagged on the crockery would've made me wilt.

Turned out there were lots of other things we could do that both of us were cool with. Some of it kinky, I have to admit; I'd never rubbed one out on a guy's ear before. Nog liked it just fine, though. Seemed I couldn't go wrong with those lobes of his. A little oo-mox and I could make my Noggles forget about the war, the pain in his leg, the pressure to go back outside... all of it. 

And it was comfortable, you know? Waking up with him warm against my back, the times he was too wiped out to go back to his own bed. Having breakfast together, watching him perform magic with a pencil and a ledger, or redrawing the blueprints for the new casino. Hanging out at the lounge before the show, watching him charm the customers, in between making sure the staff had everything just so. Sure, a guy could do a lot worse than set up shop with his accountant. 

Except I did the right thing. Instead of taking Nog to Tahoe and cribbing ideas off the competition, instead of getting him into a hot tub with plenty of champagne and seeing if he'd go for something new, I listened to that Ezri and I pushed my Noggles away and out into the real world. 

Well, it worked just dandy. Rom was in here last week for a drink and a few hands, and said the kid's doing great. Captain Sisko recommended him for lieutenant before leaving and now Nog's busting his butt, like he needs to prove he deserves the extra pip on his collar. The kid's driven to succeed, all right. You have to give him that. He'll go far. And I admire him for that, I really do.

The thing is, it's been sixteen days since it occurred to Nog to stop by. 

He asked me once, do I dream?

I wish I didn't.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Written for Mandy, who asked for Vic/anyone as part of the ASCEML Fic Exchange. Thanks to Cait for inspiring and running it.
> 
> Acknowledgements: I could not have written this without the reference materials on StarTrek.com and Memory-Alpha.org. Thanks to Acidqueen for the quick beta!


End file.
